


Lord Of The Arena

by siriusblue



Series: In A Hundred Lifetimes [19]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ancient Rome, Enemies to Lovers, First Kiss, Gladiators, Greg Lestrade & John Watson Friendship, M/M, Mutual Pining, Slavery, Swordfighting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 17:27:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21256946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriusblue/pseuds/siriusblue
Summary: Captured chieftan Gregorix is forced to train as a gladiator in Ancient Rome. He's good at it and has his eye on winning his freedom but the return of his captor, and master, brings a whole new set of complications.





	Lord Of The Arena

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Paia_Loves_Pie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paia_Loves_Pie/gifts).

> I'm no Roman historian but this is as accurate as I could get it.
> 
> Written for the lovely Paia_Loves_Pie who bid so generously on my scribblings for the Mark Gatiss Birthday Auction 2019. She asked for Gladiator Greg. Your wish is my command.

LORD OF THE ARENA

  
  
  


Beaten, bloody and utterly furious, Gregorix the chieftain of his tribe was chained by the victorious legionaries and dragged, fighting every step of the way, to what he presumed was the command tent.

Inside he was thrown to his knees while his captors mumbled in their unintelligible language to whoever was in charge.

Gregorix stared at the trampled grass and prayed to the Goddess for a quick death. He was under no illusion as to what happened to conquered enemies who refused to bend the knee.

Then there was a voice. Cultured and soft and speaking to him in his own language, asking to look up.

The tip of a legionary's  _ gladius  _ won the argument and Gregorix raised his head.

The man who had spoken to him was dishevelled and battle-weary but was unmistakably of high birth. Luminous blue eyes under Celtic red hair looked curiously at Gregorix as he spoke again.

"So you are the feared chieftain Gregorix. The bards sing of your bravery and your skill in battle. Yet you cannot defeat the might of Rome however mighty a warrior you might be. Rome has need of strong backs and stout hearts and your tribe will do nicely."

Gregorix spat at him. There was a gasp from the assembled Romans in the tent but instead of running him through with the sword at his side, the man looked amused.

"I have had men killed for less," he said, a faint crinkle appearing in the skin above his nose. "However, such an act would deprive my Emperor of some much needed entertainment."

"I will not be your dancing bear," snarled Gregorix.

"The gods forbid."

The man crooked a finger and another man approached and looked Gregorix up and down. This one had the look of a once powerful warrior who had succumbed to easy living and had run to fat.

"Marius," continued the other patrician. "What could you make of this man?"

Marius walked around the still-kneeling Gregorix with a frown of concentration.

"He would make a superb murmillo, Consul. Even a retiarius,depending on how he responds to training." 

Gregorix noted this Marius also spoke his language but in a far more rough and ready manner than the Consul.

"So be it." the Consul announced. "Gregorix, chieftain of the Leystonii, you will go to Rome as my slave. Marius here is the finest lanista in the known world."

"What," said Gregorix through gritted teeth. "Is a lanista?"

"Trainer of gladiators." the Consul replied. "In the arena you will fight or you will die. Take him to the galley."

Rough hands seized Gregorix and dragged him away, leaving two thoughtful Romans.

" _ Will _ you make a gladiator of him, my friend?" the Consul asked, reverting to Latin.

"He is one of the most revered warriors in these gods-accursed islands, Mycroftus." Marius replied, pouring wine for both of them. "He knows how to fight and he certainly has the physique for it."

Mycroftus the Consul had certainly noticed the man's broad shoulders, muscular arms and thighs, concealed as they had been under layers of homespun cloth, blood and dirt. He had also noticed a pair of brown eyes hidden under a long tangle of silver hair. Filled with hatred, certainly, but exquisite nonetheless.

"He has. Your only worry may be discipline. The chieftain will certainly have a problem realising he is a slave. Sebastian will make sure it doesn't become too big a problem."

"And if it does?" Mycroftus liked to be clear on things.

"Then his career will be exceedingly short," replied Marius, draining his goblet and pouring another one.

Mycroftus nodded his approval.

_ One Year Later _

"Harder!"

There was a dull  _ clunk  _ as the wooden sword met the shaft of his opponent's trident and Gregorix grinned as he lunged forward, his sword tip grazing the bicep of the smaller blond man.

"Cease!"

The trainer stepped forward, his green eyes flashing with fury.

"Right, you two. That's enough! You're not even trying. Pull that shit tomorrow and it'll be thumbs-down for all of us." His Germanic accent was even more pronounced when he was irritated.

Gregorix raised his hands in surrender. " _ Pax,  _ Sebastian. We've been at this all day. If we haven't got it by now, we never will. It's starting to get dark and we're all starving. What say we give it a rest?"

Sebastian gave him a look of utter disgust.

"The games tomorrow are to honour the returning Consul. He owns you . Only fair we should put on a decent show against whatever he's brought back from Hispania."

"Bulls, probably. Knowing our luck." added John the retiarius. 

"All right, go and get some food. If you were to die tomorrow, at least they can't say I didn't train you well enough." said Sebastian and stormed off.

"Come on, Greg." John said gleefully. "Dinner time!"

First the two men put away their practice weapons before washing away the dust of the training arena then presenting themselves to Martha.

Martha had been a cook at the training school for as long as anyone could remember. A former slave, she kept the gladiators and their trainers well fed as well as looking after their laundry and other domestic needs. Tasks, she had assured Gregorix during one of their late-night chats, for which the Consul who owned them paid handsomely.

Thanks to Martha and her patience, Gregorix had learned Latin. He had also learned through bitter experience that trying to fight the system would only get him killed. Luckily he had made a friend, one that tempered his unending rage at being a chattel to be bartered like a beast should his owner deem it so.

Not long after Gregorix had arrived in Rome, a fresh batch of trainees had arrived. Among them was John, a fellow Briton, and the two men had quickly become friendly. 

Lethal with a net and trident John, like Gregorix, was unbeaten in the arena and was determined to win the  _ rudis _ and make a proper life for himself.

"I have nothing to go back for," John had confessed one night. "My family are dead and I can never return to my Druid training. If I were free, I would apprentice myself to a healer for I have seen enough of fighting."

Gregorix could only envy John's clarity of vision. 

Martha fed them and the pair returned to the gladiators' quarters to rest up for the next day.

*

The next morning was fresh with blue skies and the promise of later warmth. Mycroftus, refreshed from his long journey back from Hispania, took his seat in the Consul's box giving him the best view in the arena.

He watched the plebeians file in, their happy chatter and sense of anticipation were a stark contrast to his younger brother slouched in the corner, dark curls awry, the stain of some alchemical experiment already visible on his toga. 

A slave handed out goblets of wine and Mycroftus felt a thrill run through him as he waited.

"Have the new men measured up, Marius?" he asked.

"More than I ever imagined, Consul." Marius replied, rubbing his hands together. "You remember the Briton chieftain?"

Mycroftus inclined his head in acknowledgement, no hint of how much the sight of the man had disturbed his humours or how the memory of him had inflamed many a lustful night while he had been on campaign in his cool gaze. "Indeed."

"A born murmillo, Consul. He has never been defeated in the arena. One or two have come close, mind you, but not close enough. There is another Briton, trained him up as a retiarius. He's good too. Oh, I think they're about to begin."

Mycroft turned to his younger brother and beckoned him close.

"Come, Guillermus. It's about to start."

"Boring."

"Show a little respect, brother."

"No."

With a put-upon sigh, Mycroftus turned his attention to the front as a bugling of trumpets sounded the advent of the gladiators.

"Quite a mixed bag today," said Marius cheerfully, not noticing he had lost his audience when Mycroftus caught his first sight of Gregorix in a year.

The man looked incredible; the Platonic ideal of masculinity made flesh, lean and muscled with sun-kissed skin and his silver hair cropped short which almost glittered in the morning light. He waved to the watching crowd and smiled as they cheered him.

Mycroftus heard a small whimper of pure lust emerge from his mouth. Hoping no one else had heard it, he stood graciously to accept the gladiators salute and to give the signal for the games to begin.

*

Gregorix smiled and waved to the boisterous crowd as he approached the Consul's viewing box and stopped dead. There he was, the handsome Roman with the fiery red hair. A sliver of ice found its way into his stomach as he realised this man owned him.  _ Owned  _ him. A mere word or gesture and Gregorix's life would be forfeit. It seemed monstrously unfair that the man who could order his death with less thought than scratching his nose could look as beautiful as Lugh himself.

Now was not the time for lustful thoughts, Gregorix told himself sternly as he and his fellow gladiators recited the salute and Gregorix put on his helmet.

A gesture was made by the Consul and the fun began.

*

"By all the gods, that man is lethal!" Mycroftus exclaimed, the nails of his hands digging into his palms as Gregorix deftly skewered another Hispanic traitor.

"He's brilliant, isn't he?" Marius asked, a self-satisfied smile on his face as the crowd chanted Gregorix's name.

Soon Gregorix, John and the majority of their brethren were the only men standing in the blood-soaked sand of the arena and the crowd was ecstatic.

Gregorix stood triumphant, his bare chest glistening with sweat as he raised his sword and shield, his broad smile almost as bright as the sun.

" _ Gregorix! Gregorix! Gregorix!"  _ screamed the crowd and flowers and other tokens from admirers rained down into the arena.

Mycroftus stood, and one gesture from his long-fingered hand silenced the whole arena.

"Well done, my warriors. A most noble fight. You have made me very proud. Tonight you shall join me at my villa as my honoured guests for the victory feast. Until then."

With a dismissive gesture, the Consul turned away, leaving Gregorix, John and the others to bask a little longer in the adoration of the crowd.

Once the arena was empty, the gladiators returned to the training school where Sebastian was waiting with a familiar scowl on his face.

"I don't know what you did in there but I've never seen Marius so happy. He told me we're all invited to a victory feast. Is that right?"

"That's what the Consul said," Gregorix informed him as he placed his helmet, sword and shield in the long chest where the real weapons were stored. "I would like permission to visit the baths before we go."

Sebastian laughed at this and said.

"I don't know how things are done in Britain but you'll be using the Consul's bath house before you attend the feast. He won't want a bunch of smelly slaves stinking up his victory banquet."

"Fair enough," Gregorix replied. 

One of the many things he had come to love about Rome was the baths. Swimming in icy lakes and washing in freezing winter rivers were rapidly becoming an unpleasant memory. He adored the warmth of the buildings and being clean as often as he wanted to be.

He hunted out his spare tunic and chatted with John until it was time to depart. A slightly-nervous chattering bunch of gladiators climbed into the cart usually used to transport them to the arena and they drove off.

The Consul's villa was on the outskirts of Rome and set in lush grounds surrounded by vineyards, their luscious fruit ripening in the sun.

The gladiators climbed off the cart and were directed into a leafy courtyard where a fountain splashed merrily and the air was heavy with the scent of flowers.

Gregorix admired the mosaics in the courtyard depicting sea creatures and the Roman God of the Sea and marvelled at the patience and artistry it would have taken to create such a thing.

A young woman in a crisp tunic, her long dark hair oiled and plaited over one shoulder appeared in their midst.

"If you will follow me, I will show you to the bath house," she said in a no-nonsense tone. "This way."

Not one of them dreamed of disobeying her and very shortly found themselves in the Consul's changing room where stacks of fluffy towels waited for them.

"This beats the one on the Via Appia," said John happily, stripping off his tunic and underclothes and wrapping one of the towels around his waist.

"I dunno, I've still got to share it with you hairy lot," laughed Gregorix. He was only half-joking. The social aspect of the Roman baths was something he very much enjoyed, a chance to relax with your friends, even if said friends had spent most of the day trying to kill you.

He wanted to look particularly clean tonight in the faint hope that the handsome Consul would see something other than an unlettered barbarian in him.

With a sigh, Gregorix began to undress.

*

"The gladiators are here, my Lord Consul."

Mycroftus looked up from the scroll he was studying with a started expression at Anthea, his secretarius. 

"Already? They are early, are they not? And I wished to bathe before they got here. Damn."

The look she gave him was withering.

"Hardly early. You, on the other hand, are late. I did say that the missive from Gaul could wait until tomorrow but you couldn't help yourself, could you?"

"I...that is...no?"

Anthea shook her head and made shooing gestures with her hands.

"Get a move on, Consul. If the feast is allowed to spoil because of you then you'll see just how inventive the cook can be with his new ladle."

"Point taken. Whatever should I do without you?"

"Pray to Jupiter you never have to find out. Go!"

He went.

*

Gregorix had lingered far too long in the warm heat and most of his fellow gladiators were in the frigidarium. He could hear the shrieks from here. A slave bowed when he walked into the caldarium and gestured to the bench.

"Sit, mighty Gregorix."

"No need for all that, my friend." Gregorix replied, dropping his towel and sitting naked on the wooden seat. The slave poured warm olive oil over his shoulders and chest and Gregorix closed his eyes as the man got to work with his strigil, scraping off the dirt and dead skin, leaving him smooth and relaxed.

Then the strigil was dropped with a clatter and the slave stammered.

"M-m-my Lord Consul! Forgive me, I thought…"

Gregorix opened his eyes and there was the handsome Roman who looked even more delectable in just a towel. Nearly naked or not, this man owned him and deserved respect. Gregorix stood and bowed, ignoring the audible swallow from the Consul.

Standing there naked as the day he was born, Gregorix couldn't miss the faint colour in the other man's cheeks or the dilation of his pupils.

"It is of no consequence. Leave us." Mycroftus commanded and the slave hurried out leaving the two of them alone.

" _ Salve,  _ Consul." Gregorix said when it appeared the Roman had lost the power of speech. "You have me at a disadvantage."

"You have learned Latin." Mycroftus said with a pleased smile. "Please sit. There is no need for ceremony in here."

Gregorix sat on the bench while Mycroftus surveyed him.

"I see my faith in you was not misplaced," he said. "You have become quite the hero to the people. A mighty warrior in any existence."

"Fighting and fucking were two of my strengths. Life in Britain is short and brutal so you make of it what you can. Good to see one of my talents getting plenty of use."

"Such virility should not be wasted," argued Mycroftus and Gregorix grinned. That sounded very much like an invitation.

Mycroftus could have bitten his tongue off but there was something about this moment; the warmth of the room, the two of them shorn of any trappings of office or indenture and the sultry look in the gladiator's soft brown eyes that was bewitching him as surely as any spell.

"True. However, my lord Consul, I am your slave. You could command me to pleasure you. To drop to my knees and suck your beautiful cock till you came like a fountain. Or make good use of this oil here to slide deep inside you and fill you completely. To refuse you would be to court death."

Gregorix grinned to himself at the effect his words had on Mycroftus. Deep rose coloured his creamy skin, throwing the freckles on his shoulders and arms into sharp relief and he was breathing heavily as if he had just been running. The idea obviously appealed to him.

"Enough! I would not dishonour you so." Mycroftus exclaimed. "Many such owners can and do abuse their slaves in that manner but I am not such a man. Yes, I desire you for you are beauty personified but if there were to be anything between us, it would be as free men."

"Then it will have to remain one of my dearest fantasies," said Gregorix.

"Dreams are not something to give up on, Gregorix." Mycroftus told him firmly. "I shall call Gaius back and he can finish your cleansing. I will see you at the feast."

"As you wish, my lord Consul." Gregorix replied, bowing his head.

"Alternatively," said Mycroftus. "Let me. And my name is Mycroftus."

Gregorix trembled slightly as he felt Mycroftus behind him and the gentle scrape of the strigil over his skin.

"Beautiful," breathed Mycroftus, the tips of his fingers brushing the freshly-cleansed skin. "You are exquisite."

Gregorix swallowed what would have been a loud moan as the Consul continued his ministrations, his muscles fluttering with the lightness of Mycroftus's touch, his cock harder than the marble in the courtyard.

"Not as beautiful as you." Gregorix ventured. "Do you have any Celtic blood for you have their colouring. Such tempestuous people. Kissed by fire, just as you have been."

"My great grandsire came from your islands," Mycroftus admitted. "It has been said l greatly resemble him. You have a good eye."

"Knowing people was a vital skill as chieftain. It has served me well." 

"Indeed. I have rarely seen a more lethal fighter in the arena."

Mycroftus put the strigil down and put both his hands on Gregorix's shoulders.

"It will be announced at the feast tonight that there will be a tournament in the arena to celebrate the Emperor's birthday. The victor in each bout will be given the  _ rudis _ and their freedom." Mycroftus whispered in Gregorix's ear. "Try and stay alive for one more month. If anyone deserves to be a free man, it is you."

Mycroftus brushed his lips against the back of Gregorix's neck, evoking a whole-body lustful shiver.

Then Mycroftus was gone, leaving Gregorix with the blood coursing hotly through his veins and the fiercest of hope burning in his heart.

Freedom. The most beautiful word in any language and now it was within his grasp.

*

_ One Month Later _

"Greg! Oh, by Asclepius and Apollo I will tie you to the bed if you try to get up again! Lie still so your wound doesn't open up!"

Gregorix glared at John but huffed out an exasperated breath.

"Tell me the truth, John. Will I heal? Or will I need to find someone that employs one-armed men?"

John's rolled eyes and unimpressed snort would easily have found him a career in the theatre.

"You'll be fine as long as you  _ lie still!" _

Gregorix's death rattle only made John laugh as he sat savouring the sheer joy of the day. He was a free man. The Emperor himself had come into the arena and personally handed him the rudis and his scroll of emancipation. Now he was John, free citizen of the Roman Empire. It was a good feeling.

And well-earned, in John's opinion. He and Gregorix had fought like demons besting all challengers until the sand in the arena was drenched with gore and at least two score bodies were scattered around like discarded playthings. Gregorix's last victim had got in a lucky thrust in his dying moments, however. Hence the drama from the man in the bed.

Judging by the Emperor's expression he had thoroughly enjoyed himself too, which was more than could be said for the Consul who, seeing Gregorix on his knees in the arena with his wounded arm clutched close to his body, had cried out and dropped beside him, using his own cloak to staunch the bleeding and fussing around the stretcher bearers till they carted Gregorix away for medical attention.

That the Consul had called for his own physician was telling indeed but John preferred not to speculate, especially since the man himself had just walked in to the infirmary.

Walking past John as if he were a statue, Mycroftus knelt beside Gregorix's bed.

"How are you? Does it hurt much? I have made a lavish offering to Apollo to ensure his blessing and your healing."

Gregorix smiled at him and John took that as his cue to leave and find a jug of wine and a willing companion for a touch of riotous celebrating himself.

"I will be fine. It's not that bad according to your physician. I  _ may _ have got a touch overwrought talking to John about it but I will heal in time."

Gregorix reached out with his uninjured arm and clasped Mycroftus's hand.

"Thank you for taking care of me."

Mycroftus leaned over and pressed a kiss to Gregorix's lips.

"It is my honour. I shall insist that you recuperate at my villa. Now that you are free," Mycroftus continued, pointing to the wooden sword and scroll under Gregorix's bed. "None can object."

"I think your intentions were very plain in the arena," laughed Gregorix. "I doubt any Consul would have done that for a slave."

"You are a slave no longer and I am most glad of the fact," said Mycroftus with a smile.

"So am I," replied Gregorix with a wolfish grin that made Mycroftus's heart beat that bit faster. "Once I have the use of both arms I can show you how glad I am."

Mycroftus was close enough for Gregorix to return the kiss.

"Something to look forward to," laughed Mycroftus and kissed him again.

The End.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> The rudis was a wooden sword given to successful gladiators guaranteeing their freedom.


End file.
